Chicago After Dark
by Dreamaria
Summary: So, what happens after those shows? RoxieVelma femmeslash.


Title: Chicago After Dark

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Pairing: Velma/Roxie

Notes: My first, and probably only, Chicago fic. I've actually had this idea in my head for a while, so I thought I'd just write it down before I forgot it. **If you don't like girl/girl, don't read.** Originally this fic was NC-17, but I took out the naughties. If you really want to see the original version, I'll post a link to it once I get my writing journal up.

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"Chicago After Dark"

They were used to the cheers by then. It always played out the same in the end. They'd go, appear on stage for a few minutes, sing a few songs, and dance. At first, it was their world; being on stage was their oxygen. It kept their hearts beating. The adrenaline rushed while they looked out into the crowd from behind the curtains, anxiously awaiting what the night had in store for them. The bandleader would announce their names, and they'd appear, hand in hand, their flapper skirts echoing the screams from the spotlights above. The trumpet would begin blaring, the piano keyed on without error, and the crowd would cheer. They would dance in unison, though Roxie always seemed to move either a step ahead or a step behind, not that it was noticeable by anyone besides herself and Velma. While their feet moved to the tune of the band beside them, their eyes would occasionally catch a quick glance of the other, yet they still remained in rhythm, their heels tapping the hardwood floor simultaneously. It was becoming a bore to both of them by now, the music and dance was always the same. They never bothered to change; the faster it went by, the better. Other obligations await. Not soon enough, the audience began their cheers that lasted all too long. They joined hands again and walked center stage, occasionally pacing the outskirts of the stage, accepting flowers and pecking cheeks. The crowd still cheered, yet they escaped behind the curtain, hands still enlaced, walking briskly through the corridors and past stage managers, who never once questioned them.

Velma's room was on the left, Roxie's on the right. The doors had their names on it in case one should forget. Velma's was always closer. Velma hastily opened the door; the golden doorknob seemed to slip between her hand. The door was barely open, yet they both seemed to slip between the crack into the dark room, slam against the door, shaking the lamps on the desks and causing another crack on the mirror on the door. Roxie stood with her back against the door, Velma's arms on either side of her, as if daring her to move, yet only for a second. Roxie only had enough time to raise her eyebrows and smile slyly before Velma had began smothering her soft lips with brutal kisses, and Roxie of course returned the favor. Though her eyes were shut tight, it bothered Roxie that the room was so dark, only lit by a small lamp in the far corner that she had forgot to turn off earlier that evening. Velma still grazing her lips, she fumbled for the light switch, only able to look out of the corner of her eye for a moment. After a few seconds, her fingers found what they had been looking for, and switched it on without missing a single motion.

"W-why'd…you…do…that…Rox?" Velma barely whispered between kisses.

"It was dark…" Roxie answered, her arms now working their way around Velma's back, attempting to find and un-do the buttons that held her outfit together. All too often, her long fingernails would just break the buttons off completely. The seamstress often questioned why their buttons were scattered along their floors in the mornings, but they always used the excuse that she had sewn them on inadequately. She always repaired them for the next night's show, only to find them thrown about on the floor again, she probably thought they were just careless when taking off their costumes. Velma did the same to Roxie, seeming to have an easier time undoing the buttons without breaking them off this time, and pulling the strings and seams blindly and carelessly about until she was able to pull it down until it fell to her feet. Roxie stepped over it, her high heels getting caught within the mess; she shook it off and stepped again, still entangled in Velma's arm and kiss, then removed her shoes. Roxie finally finished with Velma's skirt, playing with the seams until it hit the floor. She also stepped out of it, kicking off her shoes to avoid the mess.

Velma stepped back for a moment, looking at Roxie. She had done this every time they were about to do something, as if she were measuring her up, making sure she was good enough for _the_ Velma Kelly. Again, she approached Roxie, at first running her fingers along her neck, Roxie tilting her head back, before she leaned in and began kissing her neck and working her way up once more. Once their lips met, she turned her head slightly, eyeing the bear rug in the center of the floor. It was the closest thing to a bed they had, the room was small. Roxie opened her eyes enough to see what Velma was looking at. Still lip locked, they collapsed on to the rug, Velma sliding her hand down Roxie's thigh, pulling down her garter as she went. Roxie did the same to Velma; she always seemed a step behind, whether it was dancing or sex. Velma was used to it, she liked it, she liked being the one in control. Yet Roxie was always the one over top of her, her arms on either side of her shoulders. She could push the bitch off of her right now if she pleased, it wouldn't have been the first time. But she let it go on. Roxie had her bra undone and was kissing her down neck, chest, along her rib bones, and to her belly button. Roxie was always the eager one. Velma liked it this way, less work for her. She could do the kissing, but after that, she was done.

Eventually they'd both grow tired, and lay next to each other, sometimes Roxie would lay her leg across Velma's waist. They'd both have a cigarette in hand, neither of them spoke. Most times they didn't even look at each other.

It was the same thing every time. They'd do the show, come back to their dressing room and mess around. They weren't sure why, or how it started, or even why it started, it just _was_. Love was never spoken of, they didn't love each other. In fact, they despised each other. Perhaps it had started out that way, as love, it was something neither of them understood or cared to. But it was _something_. It was just _screwing around_ after all.

They didn't have time to think about it, it was late. The club owner had thought they were home by now, he never cared to check on them. He probably shut off all the lights as well, since the audience had probably left by now, too. There was always tomorrow night. And Roxie still had to get home to her husband.


End file.
